WH40k: Nightmares
by DodgeStreaker
Summary: Konrad has grown used to his nightmares bringing wretched visions of the future, outcomes and events that may or may never happen. But there's some dreams that he cannot determine any sense, reason or rhyme to, and he unable to tell if they're just figments of his ever-growing insanity, or a truth he's yet to see - Disclaimer: Warhammer 40k (c) Games Workshop


**A/N: So for this I picked Zso because I REALLY HATE JAGO WITH A BURNING PASSION OF I WILL STAB HIM REPEATEDLY. Seriously, I hate that man for what he did to Alastor. Here, just have a short story with another experimental writing style!**

* * *

Encompassing the perimeter all around him, his mind was viciously invaded by the echoes of familiar voices he knew all too well, their high and low tones turned wretched as they **screamed** violently in despair. Accompanied by their horrid cries of agony and desperate pleas for aid, fire was ablaze; trapping him in the center and leaving him unable to see any of this brothers held captive within the intense wicks of light and blackening smoke. The heat was just as thick as the smog that wormed its way into his lungs, making his face bead with sweat as he coughed and swiftly looked around for anything that might help, _anything_ that would allowed him to reach at least one of them before it was too late. But their cries mixed and mingled together without melody, making it impossible for him to determine their locations and he felt a panic stir within his chest.

 _Where are they? Why can't I sense them?_

With each painfully paralyzing wail that rang out in the more increasingly polluted air of the room they were trapped in, it brought another question with it as if the inconsistent howls of his brothers were coupled with the unfitting inquiries. His anxiety only continued to build, now latching itself onto potential consequences from third parties currently unknown or not even present at all. Shaking his head to try clearing his thoughts, he did his best to ignore the doubts that lurked in the shadows of his mind, the shadows created from the undying illumination of these devouring flames.

 _Wait...Who's voice is that?_

Is that Dorn crying out for him, pleading him for forgiveness? _No..._ Perhaps Guilliman needing justice? It was too incoherent to tell, but that didn't seemed right either. Horus?!

 _No...No!_

 **"FATHER!"**

* * *

Forcefully slamming his consciousness back into the material realm of what was known reality, he woke with a start. Gasping out a barely audible shriek of fright as he suddenly managed to escape from the captivity of his dream world. A cold sweat ran down his spine and there were lines of hair stuck to cheeks and forehead. As he slowly began to regain his breath and settle it into a more calm and fluid pattern, his gaze darted around the darkness of his private quarters. Not a single trace of light flowed in from the blackout curtains that covered the windows and the seams to the door were completely void of life as well.

 _Nothing._ Not a single soul aside from his own resided there with him.

 _Just another nightmare._

Sighing softly with almost believable relief Curze wiped one of his hands down his face, easily brushing away the sweat-sticky clumps of hair that were stuck to his face without so much as making a scratch with his unkempt sharp claw-like nails. Resting the back of his palm against his forehead he closed his eyes and attempted to make sense of the dream that he had just been forced to witness. The cries of his brothers were still fresh in his mind and he scowled at it, baring sharp teeth to a world of darkness with no tangible enemy anywhere in sight.

 _What did it mean?_

Throughout of the entirety of his life, he had grown accustom to the visions of all possible future outcomes that taunted or warned him via the connection of his unconsciousness mind to what was likely the Warp. Though most times he was at least granted the knowledge of the perpetrator or the cause, but most of them ended in bloodshed or a known caused of death and why. This however...This was _different_. And the fact that it was so made him uncomfortable.

 _What was trying to be said to him?_

Opening his eyes, his vision easily adjusted to the darkness that flooded the room as he rolled onto his left side, reaching out for the nightstand that was closest to him and grabbing hold of the small portable wrist Vox that he kept with him in case of an emergency. All its functions gave a soft glow as he activated the unit, carefully inputting a code into an empty private channel that he knew by heart at this point. Once the channel was secured he didn't hesitate to open it.

"Zso?" The urgency of his own tone caught him by surprise, but he didn't attempt to cover it up.

.::Sire?::. The voice of his Talonmaster was smooth and clear over the Vox, if not still a bit distorted by the soft hiss of static that was with every Vox unit within the Imperium. .::Is something wrong?::.

"Yes...Well..." He paused, though only for a brief moment as he collected his thoughts. "Tell me about dreams Zso. What do _you_ normally dream of?"


End file.
